On Saturday, June 26, 2010, there was a point at approximately the 40-mile mark of the 37th running of the Western States 100 where I almost had to pinch myself. I was running easily along an exquisite stretch of single-track trail with Geoff Roes and Kilian Jornet—arguably the two best 100-mile mountain racers in the world—that allowed us occasional glimpses into an almost Black-Canyon-of-the-Gunnison-esque precipice. The effort was comfortable but edging towards the first creeping sensations of fatigue, and we were about to embark on the initial big drop into Western’s storied “Canyons”—a series of three descents and climbs: Deadwood, El Dorado and Volcano—where the race almost always experiences a definitive shifting or establishment of positions. Best of all, I was feeling calm, confident and ready to roll on a classic section of trail in an event that, in my mind, has always represented the ultimate in ultra racing competition. Life was pretty damn good.

It seems that Western States has the capability of evoking that type of emotion and excitement no matter what aspect of the event is being played out. While there are certainly a few organizational and staging critiques that I could make, the event largely lives up to its billing as the de facto national championship in our niche little sport. The top athletes show up, the ultra-geeks get excited and tweet and blog ecstatically, and it seems everyone approaches the task at hand—running 100 miles in a day—with an uniquely special sense of duty and resolve. I know I did.

After my last (failed) attempt at the 100-mile distance at the Leadville 100 in August 2009, I learned that it is important never to trivialize the 100-mile distance by playing cavalierly with its demands. As a result, I went into this year’s WS100 with a strict aim of focusing on nothing but competing as best I could—even when Pearl Izumi laudably put up a couple grand for a new course record very late in the media-buzz game, I simply stuck to my intentions of only trying to win the race. I figured, considering this year’s remarkably talented and deep field, simply winning would require a course record anyway.

The Big Four

Shortly before 4 a.m. Saturday morning, I woke, ate two tortillas with Nutella, picked up my bib number and timing ankle chip and made my way to the starting line with only minutes to spare. I was legitimately nervous, but the good kind—I knew I was prepared and was simply as excited as everyone else to see just how the day would unfold amongst the top contenders.

Geoff Roes slightly ahead of Anton Krupicka at the top of Emigrant Pass, around the mile 4 mark.

From the very beginning, the alleged “Big Four” (Hal, Geoff, Kilian and myself) asserted ourselves as the legit contenders everyone had predicted us to be. The first four miles of the course immediately climbs about 2,500 feet relatively steeply on ski-slope catwalk and short sections of single track to Emigrant Pass at the top of the Squaw Valley Ski Area.

As expected, Kilian jumped out to a quick lead, but was quickly followed and eventually apprehended by Hal. I fell in casually next to Geoff a few meters back and just focused on finding a comfortable, last-all-day rhythm. At the first aid station (maybe a mile below the summit of the pass), Kilian stopped briefly for a drink of water, which allowed Hal, Geoff and I to catch up. We essentially ran single file to the top of the pass. Kilian was again in front and running every step of a short, very steep section of trail, but gaining only a small amount on Geoff and me, who were power-hiking. I’m all for running very steep terrain, but over the years, I’ve realized that enforcing such a requirement during a 100-mile race isn’t always the best idea.

Geoff and I crested the Escarpment in 42 minutes and, looking over my shoulder, I took in the spectacular views of a fog-laden Squaw Valley, a shimmering Lake Tahoe and perfect alpine glow on all of the surrounding peaks. It was truly a glorious morning. Heading down the single-track into the Granite Chief Wilderness, I held back from letting out a loud whoop; I didn’t want to come off as cocky so early in the race.

Almost immediately, we began the much-talked-about section of snow running. The next five miles or so were defined by hip-deep snowpack, non-snow footing that consisted mostly of high-flowing streams and run-off, and very little trail. I’m very comfortable on this kind of mixed, technical terrain, so it was actually a lot of fun trotting along easily behind Kilian and Geoff. Geoff commented on how it was nice to have the poor footing as an early mental diversion and I agreed. I could run all day on that type of stuff and never get bored. The three of us worked together to spot the yellow flags marking the course and before long we were on a double-track that ended in a gate (which I spontaneously vaulted—lots of energy early in the morning!), where we turned left onto the so-called “Snow Route”—a gradually descending double-track that eventually dumped us out onto a wide, graveled forest service road.Strategy 1: Exercising restraint

It was in this section that the Team Pearl Izumi fellows (Josh Brimhall, Nick Clark and Nick Lewis) caught up to our little lead group of three and brought with them Hal, Zach Miller and Leigh Schmitt. Most folks in this group are friends and it was a jovial crowd early in the morning as we all screamed down the road at what I eventually found to be an alarmingly fast pace. Josh was definitely the guilty party—he seemed to be forcing the pace into the mid-to-low-6s at the front, and Kilian was more than willing to join him.

As we hit the wide section of road, I found myself gradually settling in at the back of our increasingly strung-out group with Nick Clark and Nick Lewis. At one point, Hal stopped to fertilize the bushes and as he came flying back by me he slapped me on the butt with a hearty, “It’s time to start running, boy!” but I could tell that at least a few of the folks in front of me were in over their heads even at this early stage.

I ran as quickly as I comfortably could without feeling like I was overstriding or forcing anything, and just waited patiently for the turn onto the Poppy Trail at mile 19. I’m capable of running a fast pace on the roads, but doing so just seemed foolhardy so early in a 100 miler. It seriously felt like a 50-mile race pace to me, and I was slightly anxious about the fact that I could no longer catch any glimpses of Kilian, Josh, Hal, Zach and Leigh way out in front of me. To re-set my headspace, I even pulled over briefly to water the bushes, and by the time I hit the aid station in 2:38, I’d slightly dropped Nick Clark and could see Josh heading onto the trail. Perfect, back to my preferred environment!

The gorgeous trail along the shores of French Meadows Reservoir rejuvenated me and immediately restored my confidence. Within minutes, I could see the whole crew queued up in front of me and I soon settled into a very comfortable pace right behind Hal, Kilian, Geoff and Zach. The positions stayed this way until we popped out of the trees and into the Star Fire burn section. This 1.5-mile portion of trail was extremely rough hewn and looked like it had only been hacked out the day before. The pace stayed relaxed, but on the short climb into the mile 24 Duncan Canyon aid station, Hal and Zach stepped aside and Geoff, Kilian and I all arrived together in 3:12.

Strategy 2: Keeping cool and hydrated

Duncan was the first place that I saw my crew of Jenny Uehisa, Jenn Shelton and Joe Grant (fresh off his second-place finish at the Bighorn 100 the previous weekend). They were fantastic all day long, and at this station, we established a remarkably quick routine of exchanging bottles, tying an ice-filled bandana around my neck and stuffing my pockets with GUs. I couldn’t have been in the transition area for more than 20 seconds. While I had felt the sun heating up in the previous exposed section, we soon dropped down onto some nice single-track in the shade as we made our way to the bottom of Duncan Canyon. I felt a little silly carrying two bottles of ice water (I’d started the race with just one bottle) and a freezing cold bandana around my neck, but I figured in this race it was a good thing to keep the body’s core temperature as low as possible for as long as possible.

On the descent to the river at the bottom of the drainage, Hal caught up to us but then soon faded as I led us up the gradual, 1,500-foot climb to the Robinson Flat aid station at mile 30. I was pleasantly surprised by this whole section of the course—it was real trail running with sometimes technical footing, a few downed branches and a significant amount of snow as we approached the top of the climb. Coming into Robinson Flat, Kilian quite randomly spurted ahead on the uphill and I just assumed he either needed to pull over and pee or he was going to make a decisive break because he was tired of my pansy-ish uphill pace setting. Neither appeared to be the case, however, as Geoff and I just kept plugging away. A few minutes later, we had caught back up to Kilian again. All of the snow near the aid station led to some mild confusion as to which way to go, but Rickey Gates was there doing some filming on the course and pointed us in the right direction as we reached the checkpoint in 4:11.

I didn’t have any crew at Robinson, so I just quickly filled my bottles and headed out of the station first up about a mile-long, snow-covered climb to the top of Little Bald Mountain. Geoff and Kilian quickly caught back up and at the top we began what was essentially a continuous 15-mile downhill to the depths of Deadwood Canyon at the bottom of the Devil’s Thumb climb.

On the way to Millers Defeat (mile 34) and Dusty Corners (mile 38), I just focused on running as relaxed as possible and putting forth the most absolutely minimal effort required to continue running with Geoff and Kilian. We all seemed to have the same idea—we were leading the race and knew that we were all worthy contenders, but didn’t see any reason to really push the pace yet. As a result, this section was quite pleasant, if a little bit monotonous. I was definitely happy to have Kilian and Geoff’s company, and Geoff and I chatted occasionally about a wide variety of topics. Unfortunately, my Spanish isn’t as good as it could be, so Kilian mostly stayed silent in the back. Whenever I felt the urge to run faster, I consciously held myself back, remembering that everyone I needed to worry about was right there—it was way too early to do any sort of real racing.

Strategy 3: Enduring in tandem

Soon enough, we were through the Pucker Point section of trail and the three of us arrived at the mile 43 Last Chance station in 6:04 in tandem, just like we’d been for the last 20 miles. As we headed out of the aid station, Geoff commented that he couldn’t believe we were only 40 percent of the way done with the race and that we still had so far to go. I don’t think I even verbally responded because I don’t like to think about how much I have left to go until at least the 60 or 70 mile point—it’s just too daunting.

When we approached the precipitous Deadwood Canyon drop on single-track, I pointed to the trail on the left, but Geoff pulled slightly to the side as if he hoped one of us would take the lead down the trail instead. I had no issue with setting the pace for a while, and, as I’d been doing for the past couple hours, now that I was in front I very consciously eased my effort as much as possible. After a couple of switchbacks of this, Kilian said something, darted by on my left, and in 20 seconds was literally completely out of sight. Watching him bound down that trail for those few seconds was truly astounding. Sure, I had been running easily on purpose, but I couldn’t imagine imparting that kind of pounding on my quads so early in the race.

Geoff said something about how there was no way he was following that; I agreed, and I was seriously thinking that maybe the race for first place was over. After his somewhat aggressive start, all morning I had been expecting Kilian to just take off and drop Geoff and me at some point, and this seemed to be that move. Nevertheless, as we descended calmly to the Swinging Bridge (hit in 6:27), Geoff remarked that the Bridge’s energy-absorbing qualities briefly made his legs feel like we were at mile 90, and then it was on to the notorious 1.7-mile, 1,500-foot climb up to Devil’s Thumb.

Before the race, I had fully planned on stopping to dunk my head in the nice spring beside the trail at the base of this hill, but when we got down there, I simply didn’t feel the need to; the heat just didn’t seem that bad yet. The initial switchbacks of this ascent are quite steep and Geoff and I quickly settled into a strong power-hike with me in front. Within in a minute or so, though, it was obvious that I was feeling stronger and I quickly pulled away as the climb continued. There were several long, runnable stretches of trail to break up the power-hiking (especially on the top half of the hill), and I just focused on keeping my effort very even, controlled and moderate. To me, the grade was actually a welcome break from the last 15 miles of downhill.

Strategy 4: Finding encouragement

I was moving well without much effort (lots of oxygen at those lower altitudes), but maybe two-thirds of the way to the canyon rim, I was astonished to catch a glimpse of Kilian’s white suit only a few switchbacks ahead, and he was hiking, no less. This was a huge confidence boost for me. In the days leading up to the race, my pacer Joe and I had talked quite a bit about how hard I’d have to go on the canyon climbs in order to keep Kilian within striking distance, so it was a very big mental boost to be moderately going my own rhythm and still catching Kilian on the, arguably, definitive climb of the course.

Just before the mile 48 Devil’s Thumb aid station, I was boosted by encouragement from Topher Gaylord and Tim Twietmeyer, and I even remarked to them that I was actually a bit chilly given that the whole climb was in the shade and I had a bandanna of ice tied around my neck. I was close enough at the top to watch Kilian enter the aid station just before me; I arrived in 6:54. I left the aid just before Kilian and as we filed onto the ridge descent down to El Dorado Canyon, I stepped slightly to the side and motioned with my hand that he was welcome to go by again if he liked. Kilian replied with an enthusiastic “No, no, no!” so I figured that maybe he’d learned his lesson in the last canyon. I could definitely feel a mutual respect forming between the two of us, as it became clear it was going to be a very tight two-man race at the front for the next several miles.

Strategy 5: Setting a controlled pace

I set the pace all the way down to the El Dorado aid station at 53 miles. This descent is much more gradual, and I took a lot of joy in the fact that we were past the halfway point and my body still felt very good. Each year at Leadville it seems like I get to the turn-around at Winfield feeling like absolute crap with no idea how I’m going to turn around and repeat everything I’ve just finished. At WS100 this year, however, I was still feeling very strong at this point.

We reached the aid station at the bottom of the climb in 7:33, and again I left slightly before Kilian after refilling my drained bottles. He soon caught up, though, and went by me as I power-hiked a short section, during which he maintained a running cadence. However, after opening only 5–10 yards on me, I reeled Kilian back in and even re-passed him when I felt the pace lagging at one point. For the remainder of the climb, I set the pace in front with Kilian right on my heels, running when I ran and hiking when I hiked (which wasn’t much). We were close enough the whole time that I could even hear him breathing hard, another confidence-inducing confirmation that he was indeed human and not the god-of-mountain-running that I had somewhat built him up to be. He’d actually picked up a liter of bottled water at one of the previous aid stations, probably at Dusty Corners.

I was deliberately continuing to keep the effort and pace controlled on this ascent. The day before, Jenny had commented on how everyone comes into Michigan Bluff looking like crap after suffering through the canyons, and for some reason that was motivation enough for me to do what I could to ensure that I felt good when I arrived there.

At the very top of the hill, Kilian went past me and opened a slight gap as we went into the aid station. I think he was probably getting frustrated that I was moving more quickly through aid stations than him, but I guess it wasn’t enough for him to continue to carry water with him. I felt great as we hit mile 56, Michigan Bluff, in 8:13. The crowds there were so large and frenzied that I actually had to shout at my crew members in order to be heard over the din. Again, I took off towards Volcano Canyon alone, but Kilian soon rejoined me and we both scrambled for patches of shade along the edge of the road. Kilian remarked to me that it was “very hot,” and I agreed although I actually didn’t think it was that bad—maybe I’d just been expecting a lot worse and all those noon-time runs back home in Boulder were paying off.

It was on this exposed section that I even thought about offering Kilian some water—it just seemed crazy to me that he wouldn’t carry any, and it almost felt like cheating in that I could basically drink whenever and however much I wanted when he wasn’t even carrying a bottle anymore. The short climb up Chickenhawk Road to the turn-off into Volcano is pretty steep, and while Kilian at first tried to pull away again, it was soon obvious that he couldn’t easily drop me and we just continued to run together until the descent. On the steep downhill into the canyon, the temperature definitely heated up and I let Kilian push out a lead of a few seconds. I was still in a mindset of running conservatively and effortlessly and just didn’t feel like pounding the quads yet. At the bottom of Volcano, though, we both fully submerged in the stream and then resumed our usual tandem climbing up to Bath Road at mile 61.

Krupicka with crew member and pacer Jenn Shelton, around mile 62.

Jenn met me at the bottom of Bath with a fresh bottle of ice water, but I was staying so on top of my hydration that, combined with the dip in the stream, I didn’t even feel the need for it. Adam Chase joined Kilian at this point, too (although, it didn’t seem like he brought any water for him), and the four of us cruised up the asphalt road with Kilian eventually pulling into the raucous mile 62 Foresthill aid station a few yards up on me in 9:08—23 minutes under Scott Jurek’s course-record pace.

Strategy 6: Remembering to fuel

At Foresthill, I picked up my first pacer, Joe Grant. Joe also had a white cap for me to keep the increasingly hot sun off my face. I don’t typically run with a brimmed hat, and for the first few minutes on the California Street trail it was a little disorienting not to have an instant line of sight to the upcoming trail, but the shade the cap provided was definitely welcome. Joe was pretty amped up as we entered the trail, but for whatever reason, I began to enter the first very small bad patch of my race. It was kind of hot and I was actually starting to get a bit dizzy. However, at the first stream we crossed, I paused to dip my hat in the cool water and after a gel and an S! Cap felt better almost instantly. Kilian had caught back up with his pacer, mountain runner Rickey Gates, and we continued down the trail together with me in front again setting the pace.

There is no doubt that running with Kilian through here put a little extra pep in my stride, but I was really trying to be conscious of not going too hard just yet despite the shade, slight downhill grade and perfect single-track trail. We reached Cal-1 together and kind of took the person manning the station by surprise.

Not long after this we hit a longish, somewhat steep downhill, where Kilian bounded down in his usual fashion while I babied my quads and managed to get a whole lot of rocks and dirt in my right shoe. My right knee (the injured one) also really acted up here briefly and, combined with the fresh rocks on my blistered big toes, I just wasn’t very happy anymore. I limped on for a couple more minutes as I watched Kilian and Rickey pull away until I thought, “screw it,” and sat down on the side of the trail to take off my shoe and get the rocks out. It was less than a 30-second stop, but it made all the difference in the world for my feet, and Joe and I were soon charging down the trail again in hot pursuit of Kilian and Rickey. I soon heard some cheers a little ways up the trail at Cal-2 and checked my watch in order to get a read on Kilian’s lead. Just over a minute later, we arrived at the aid station in 10:24, and a bit to my surprise, Kilian was still there quaffing fluids.Strategy 7: Forming camaraderie with the competition

Through this section of the course, it started becoming apparent to me that Kilian no longer had much initiative in pushing the pace. Whenever we would hit one of the short climbs in this section, Kilian and I would fall into a hard power-hike and I could sense my legs were willing to move just a bit faster than his. The coolest part of all this, though, was that it was really starting to feel almost like a team effort amongst the four of us. Rickey was catching the whole thing on a camera strapped to his hat, and on the climbs, Kilian and I would be doubled-over power-hiking for all we were worth with our hands on our knees. More than once we were as physically close as we could be without being on top of one another, brushing elbows, grunting and puffing, and searching for patches of shade along the edge of the trail. It was pretty fun.

After we hit Cal-3, the trail was largely done descending and we were stuck out in the hot sun just rolling along the Middle Fork of the American River until we finally arrived at the Rucky Chucky River Crossing (mile 78), running side by side into the station in 11:26. At the river, the volunteers quickly had the four of us seated in a raft and ferried to the other side. There was a tangible bond of camaraderie among the four of us, as if we’d all just been part of something challenging and special, and, clearly, we had. In the boat, I shook Kilian’s hand and commented on the fun racing we’d been doing for the past few hours, but I think he was just feeling a bit overheated. I was definitely mentally a bit out of it and distinctly remember wishing that the boat trip was longer just so that we could have a bit of a mental and physical break before going at it again.

At the Rucky Chucky River Crossing (mile 78), Krupicka and Kilian take a brief physical and mental break.

On the other side, I briefly submerged myself in the water, but should’ve stayed longer. Jenn was there to take over pacing duties, but I actually sat down in a chair for 20 seconds or so to just get my head straight and collect myself. I’d been thinking about getting to the river for so long that I wasn’t that excited about just blitzing through it and moving on. Soon enough, though, Kilian’s pacer, Jorge Pacheco, got him going and Jenn and I joined them up the hill.

After hiking the first short, steep few yards, the four of us ran pretty much every step of the 1.7-mile climb up to the mile 80 Green Gate aid station. I was still out of it until I finally realized that it’d been a while since I’d eaten a gel. That perked me up a bit. Jenn and I went to fill our bottles and I noticed Kilian sitting down on his usual blanket in the shade while I continued on down the trail. Although I’d gotten used to Kilian catching right back up, there was something in the way that he collapsed onto the ground this time that had me confident I could actually open a gap this time.

Strategy 8: Calculating moves

All day I’d been sort of casually curious as to how I was ever going to break this guy and win the damn race. Now, it was finally happening, but I wasn’t feeling so great either. Coming into the aid station, we had heard cheers down at the river and, upon checking my watch, calculated that I had a 15-minute lead over the third-place guy, who I presumed to be Geoff. Shortly after the aid station, I stopped to pee for only the second time, and I commented to Jenn that we really should’ve kept walking for that. I was just kind of at a low point mentally and physically, despite finally being solidly in the lead for the first time all day. Eventually, though, Jenn got my head back in the game and we kept padding forward at a slow but steady pace. I figured with my sizeable lead over Geoff and a pretty blown-out looking Kilian that if I could just keep running these last 20 miles, I could probably win the race.
Things weren’t going great, but I was definitely still moving decently as we finally got to the mile 85 ALT aid station. I had been getting pretty hot out in the sun, and some ice water and a sponge did wonders—we were actually really running well after ALT. If I’d had any inkling that Geoff had somehow closed his 15 minutes to a mere three minutes at that point, that would’ve been really helpful. Jenn kept me motivated with all kinds of compliments as to how fast we were running at times—because we were—but when Geoff and his pacer, Dave Mackey, came flying by us at about 88 miles, it took me completely by surprise and was definitely deflating.

At first I just couldn’t believe it, but then my competitive spirit kicked in and we definitely ran the next bit of trail pretty hard. Right before the mile 90 Brown’s Bar aid station, we caught Dave Mackey gamely jogging down the trail, which I thought was a bit of a strange time and place for him to quit pacing Geoff.

Coming out of Brown’s Bar, Jenn told me that Geoff only had a couple hundred yards on us. I found that kind of hard to believe, but I continued to run as hard as I could with hopes of catching him again. I knew that I really, really wanted to win, especially after running so hard out front all day long. We popped out onto the old Quarry Road along the river and, all of a sudden, there he was, maybe 200 yards or so ahead of us. I had caught only a glimpse, but I was following his Montrail Mt. Masochist shoe prints in the sand and I remember wishing there was a way of knowing exactly how many seconds or minutes old those footprints were so that I could know if I was closing or not.

We turned left back onto single-track and made the short climb up to the mile 93.5 Highway 49 Crossing aid station. I could tell that my downhill legs were really done, but I hoped that maybe I’d get him on the uphill. I ran most of that climb and actually dropped Jenn a bit in the process, and, towards the top, had closed the gap down to no more than 50 yards. Geoff was power-hiking up ahead and I saw him actually turn around and look at me before he was over the top of the hill and around the curve on the trail again.

Strategy 9: Finding resolve

I came onto Highway 49 without Jenn, and there was a whole lot of excitement there, seeing as how close the race was. I was only 147 lbs—the lightest I’d been all day—but I didn’t even wait around to let the volunteers tell me I needed to drink more.

The final push, on the streets of Auburn

Unfortunately, Geoff had been able to slip out of the station and around the corner just before I arrived, otherwise maybe I would’ve received a crucial shot of adrenaline. As it was, I just chugged on up the hill to the cool meadow and started the long downhill to No Hands Bridge and the American River at mile 97. I knew I was losing the race on this downhill, but I just couldn’t make my quads take anymore pounding. Jenn caught back up and repeatedly asked me if I could go any faster and I tried and tried, but there was really just nothing left there. I suspect that ripping down Cal Street with Kilian was coming back to haunt me a bit.

By the time we got to No Hands and heard that Geoff was five or six minutes up, I was fairly dismayed. Geoff was going to have to really blow it to lose that lead in three miles, but I gave it a good effort up to Robie Point, nonetheless, thinking specifically back to 2006, when Brian Morrison entered the track finish in first but then couldn’t even finish the race. I wasn’t even able to drop Jenn on this climb, though, and when I heard I hadn’t cut into Geoff’s lead any, I just resolved myself to second place and really enjoyed the last mile of asphalt into town, running with my whole crew down to and around the Placer High School Track to a 15:13:53 runner-up finish, 23 minutes under Scott Jurek’s previous standard, but six frustrating minutes behind Geoff’s new one. Done!

Krupicka finishes second, well under Scott Jurek's old course record.

Becoming a true competitor

Strange as it may sound, considering it was technically the first ultra I’ve lost, Western States felt almost like a “breakthrough” race for me. I think it was definitely the best 100 miler I’ve run in terms of pacing, execution and overall strength of my running throughout the day. Until Saturday, my experience in 100 milers had been one of getting to 60 or 70 miles and being almost completely worked over and depleted that all I could do was stump the last 30–40 miles to the finish at a frustratingly slow tempo. At this year’s Western States, however, I really feel like I didn’t even start competing or engaging the race at all until probably 70 miles. I spent most of the time up until then just making sure that I was very comfortable and conservative with whatever pace my body found. As a result, instead of having it turn into a survival-fest for the final third of the race, I was actually able to race the last 20–30 miles.

A big part of that experience was having the expertise and pressure of Kilian and Geoff so late in the race. They both ran brilliantly and I’m thankful for the opportunity to test myself against them. I was asked several times during the days leading up to the race why I wanted to be at Western States, and the unequivocal answer is because I was there to truly compete. If I wanted to just run 100 miles, I could do that for free, by myself or with a couple of friends, on much more aesthetically pleasing terrain someplace here in Colorado. The central reason I was at Western States was to push hard with other folks who were capable of bringing out my best performance and taking me to places I’ve never been before. Exploring that unknown territory is a crucial aspect of fully engaging in life.